got fooled in the
article he found.

So many people think heaven must be up yonder because they have never
tried to find it here below.

You Sang to Me, Dear!

I.

You sang to me, Dear, in the morns far away,
When the birds of the spring sang the matins of May,
And the songs that you sang to me then were as sweet
As the whispers the daisies lisped low at your feet.

II.

You sang to me, Dear, in the noons far away,
When the fairies of joy sang the love-songs of May,
And the touch of your hand was as tender and true
As the longings of love in the dear heart of you!

III.

You sang to me, Dear, in the nights far away,
When the dews of the dusk kissed the rose-lips of May,
And the dews of your lips were as soft as the dew,
And your eyes were as bright as the stars over you!

IV.

O, the morn and the noon and the night, when your lips
In the sweetest of raptures brought sorrow's eclipse!
They have died with the years on the deserts of men,
Yet your heart to my heart sings the love-songs again!

V.

And the blossoms still bloom on the beautiful way
Where the dews of the dusk kiss the rose-lips of May,
And the noon and the night from the far away shore
Sing the songs that you sang, to my heart evermore!

Caught on the Fly.

A bar-room full of laughter is more attractive than a home used for
rag-chewing.

If a man stops to try on every shoe that fits him, he won't get dressed
in time to build the fires in the morning.

Strength to do and to endure is the rich, ripe fruit of trial and
struggle, grown only in the gardens of supreme courage.

Jist a-Wushin'!

Jist a-wushin' fer the grass
Whayre the brook's a-brimmin'
An' the tow-head fellers thayre
Strippin' off fer swimmin'!
Wushin' fer to be a boy
In the laughin' lan's o' joy,
Whayre the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!

Wushin' fer the fields o' green,
Cow-bells jingle, jangle,
An' the kids thayre on the swing
In the tree-tops' tangle!
Wushin' fer to be a boy
Whayre no sorrows fun destroy,
An' the rain-bows ring the medders with a rosy rim of joy!

Wushin' fer a fishin pole,
Whayre the swallers chatter,
An' the Bob-whites come an' call
Through the cat-bird's clatter!
Wushin' still to be a boy
Whayre